twisted sweet nothings
by Sane-in-Insanity
Summary: Mako/Korra/Asami — They're not as fucked up as the world makes them out to be—they are worse.


_Note: AU fic.  
_

* * *

**twisted sweet nothings**

_They're not as fucked up as the world makes them out to be—they are worse._

* * *

It's hard to ignore the stares and whispers, but she tries her best to. Asami saunters down the corridor, head held high with dignity. Let them stare. Let them whisper. Let them get their share of gossip for the day before they move on with their pathetic little lives.

Asami isn't surprised when she hears Korra before she sees her. Even in the noisy hallway, Korra's voice always stands out—the voice that whispers sweet nothings in between warm sheets, the voice that promises sleepless nights, the voice that was only meant for her ears.

(—and Mako's. Don't you forget that, Asami Sato.)

Korra is leaning against the wall, backpack slung carelessly over a shoulder, and there's Mako, of course.

(Those two are inseparable; where there is Korra, there is Mako. Just like how Mako and Asami used to be—.)

—and Korra waves at Asami, a twinkle in her blue, blue eyes, "Asami!" She grins, glowing and forever, because that's how Korra is—glowing and gleaming and wicked, a lightning strike in a thunderstorm.

Asami approaches them nonchalantly, paying no attention to the murmurs around them that seem to get louder and louder like buzzing flies. She has a sudden urge to turn around and scream at them to leave them the fuck alone. She wouldn't, though.

(Let them look. Let them talk. It doesn't matter because there's Korra and Korra always makes things better.)

Korra leans forward and whispers loudly in a mocking tone, "I think your ex-boyfriend is jealous of us."

Asami raises an eyebrow and glances at Mako, "Jealous?"

He is turning red at an alarming rate and he starts fumbling with the scarlet scarf around his neck, "Rumor has it that you guys are—" he makes a face "—fuck buddies."

(Mako—that crafty bastard.)

Asami waves a hand dismissively, "Believe what you want, Mako. Doesn't change reality."

Mako scowls darkly, ready to answer when Korra, still amused and grinning, tugs him on the arm, "C'mon, Mako, we have class in a few minutes."

When Korra and her boyfriend leave, Asami doesn't miss the way Korra's fingers brush the tips of her breasts, feather-light and playful and intimate.

By the look in Mako's eyes, he doesn't miss it either.

* * *

Rough, possessive fingers curl into thick black hair. He tightens his grip, yanking her head back and baring her pale throat. Breathing hot and heavy, he pins her against the wall, an iron grip around her waist. Her naked, slender legs wrap around his hips, and she cries out sharply when he inserts his cock into her, a sudden burst of pain and pleasure flaring in her lower region.

(Keep your voice down, you slut.)

"Have you been fucking my girlfriend?" Mako demands hoarsely, thrusting in and out, in and out so aggressively that Asami absentmindedly wonders if the condom is going to break. Not that it matters, with the pill and all. "Well, _hav__e _you?" He bites down hard on the throbbing pulse point on her neck.

Asami cries out at the force of the bite, almost certain that it would leave a bruise next morning, "Are you jealous that she wants my cunt more than your cock?" She hisses into his ear, fingers clawing down his muscled back. She knows Mako would leave her apartment with welts and bruises the next morning, and a sense of vicious satisfaction swells for a moment.

"Korra is _mine_," he snarls from between his teeth, punctuating the last word with a strong grind as if in affirmation.

She can't help but throw her head back and laugh, breathless; it is all so twisted and ironic, the way they—two supposed ex-lovers—are in her apartment fighting over Korra _while _screwing each other.

Asami wonders what Korra would say to this, if she knew.

(She will never know. She can _never _know.)

"Wrong, Mako," she murmurs, lips brushing his defined jawline, "she is _ours._"

* * *

Asami lays her head on Korra's chest with her eyes closed, listening to Korra's strong heartbeat, still pumping loud and hard from their earlier session. Her eyes follow the lines of the shadows cast by the moonlight, accentuating the roundness of Korra's tanned nipples and the curves of her breasts.

"Korra," she mumbles, twirling softly around a nipple, "why are you with him?" She knows she doesn't need to say who 'he' is.

Korra's breathing pauses momentarily before she answers, just as quietly, "He tells me he loves me," her fingers entwine with Asami's midnight locks, stroking absentmindedly.

(That's one of the shittiest reasons to be with someone, Asami wants to say.)

"Do _you_ love him?" Asami asks after a moment of hesitation; Korra and Asami usually don't talk about touchy subjects like _feelings_.

There's a low rumble within Korra's chest, and Asami realizes she is laughing, "_Love? _I don't think so," she answers bluntly, "I really like him though."

Asami isn't sure exactly how she knows this, but it almost feels like a switch that has been flipped off—the time for emotional talk is over, in spite of its briefness.

(Aren't most girls supposed to talk about emotions and feelings and all that, anyway?)

Then again, Korra and Asami _aren't _most girls.

A slow smirk caresses Asami's lips and she runs her tongue over them, looking up at Korra, "As much as you like me?" She purrs seductively and descends, pushing Korra's thighs apart and presses her lips against Korra's cunt. Without warning, Asami pries into the warm, wet region of her vagina with her tongue, curling and twisting like a devilish snake.

Korra's breaths are coming shallow and rapid, "Not even close," she rasps, head thrown back in pleasure and fists clenched amongst the sheets, _"not even close."_

* * *

_Oh, dem sluts :P I hope you enjoyed this! Please don't fav without leaving a feedback :)_


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